Homecoming
by Penultima
Summary: A letter from Percy arrives in the Burrow where the Weasleys have returned to celebrate Christmas. His painful doings are explained, his mistakes revealed, his sorrows uncovered at last. Will they be able to forgive him? Or will everything go wrong?


**Homecoming**

* * *

How the hell did we wind up like this?

Why weren't we able

To see the signs that we missed

And try to turn the tables

I'm sorry.

That's what you've always wanted to hear from me, isn't it? You want me to come knocking at the door with tears on my face and my head hung low. You expect me to show up one day and fall on my knees for forgiveness. You want to see me do this and shout at me and remind me about everything I did and what it did to you. And then I'd beg some more and you'd shout some more and then I'd end up in the porch and you'll slam the door in my face.

That's what you always though would happen. But if there's one connection we still have it's how stubborn we all can be.

I'm not going to come home and beg for forgiveness when I know you won't forgive me. I won't fall on my knees when I know you'll just shout at me, scream at me and tell me what I've done to all of you. I'm not going to knock on the front door to have it slammed right in front of my face. I don't need to be told how you've been trying to get over me. I know you well enough even from a distance. I'm part of the family, I should know that much.

I wish you'd unclench your fists

And unpack your suitcase

Lately there's been too much of this

Dont think its too late

Nothing's wrong

just as long as

you know that someday I will

Mum would cry in the middle of the cooking, and then the rhubarb crumble would burn, but no one will say anything anyway. Everyone's going to tell her it's great, and smile through the bitter and ashen taste on their tongues. Dad's going to be even more obsessive about his collection. He'll rearrange his collection, by type, by size, then by name and by use. At one point or another one of you are going to find him bent over his list of items, tears falling and blurring the ink. And you'll clench your fists and curse me under your breath.

Bill would try to make it up to mom for me, trying to get her to forgive me even though she can never hate me. He'll bring her gifts, buy her some nice stuff and come shopping with her. At other times he'll be with that Triwizard Champion trying to forget about me, trying to let her soothe his worries and convince him that I'm not worth it. But he won't believe it and blame himself for being such a bad brother. Charlie's going to bury himself in his work, go looking for dragons that don't exist just to get away from home. He'll get burned and won't care much, just so the anger and the disappointment and self-digust can burn off him. But in the end he'll come back home and find Mum crying and Dad obsessing and he'll leave again.

Fred and George will try to laugh it off, try to stomp it out, douse the passionate hate and loss burning in the house. They'll turn somber when Mum starts crying, and then they'll tell her I'm a damned, mud-caked, arse-kissing scumbag and make her feel worse because she doesn't feel that way. And then they'll go their room, try to make up an invention, start bickering and fight with each other. Then they'll leave to find Ron and Ginny and make fun of them together. And they'll grin and laugh just because they don't know what else to do.

Ron is going to hate me. That's for sure. I'm sure he tore up my letter and maybe let Pig eat it up or use it to cover up owl droppings. He won't know I did it on purpose, tried to make him hate me. Because he's at a loss at what to do, what to feel, what to say about me. He hates me for making Mum and Ginny cry and he still loves me because he can't think otherwise. Why let him support me and then row with Dad and Mum and then leave? I sent him a letter saying his best friend was deranged, told him Harry Potter, the boy I made my brother, did not speak the truth, just tried to get attention. I told him I wanted him to work like me too, I told him I loved sucking up to officials and I was happy with my job and all the importance and responsibilty. I made myself sound like a complete bastard and let him hate me. He'll call me a git, and then he'll hate me because I've given him a reason to feel that way.

Ginny will cry her eyes out when she finds I've left, she'll grab Pig and try to owl me, only Pig will come back without a reply, with the letter that hasn't even been unsealed. She'll throw her own letters to the fire without knowing there are tearstains in the resealed parchments. And she'll cry and go to Mum and they'll cry together and beg outloud for me to come home.

Someday, somehow

gonna make it allright but not right now

I know you're wondering when

(You're the only one who knows that)

Someday, somehow

gonna make it allright but not right now

I know you're wondering when

And you're all going to hate me for all of this, for ruining the family and bringing this on all of us, and you'll shout in the silent night just to get the anger out of your chest. You'll feel angry at me and imagine you're shouting at me. You'll do this all without knowing I came home and found the house empty and cried because you didn't leave anything for me. You didn't leave the chipped mugs and the rickety, mismatched chairs. You didn't leave the worn stuffed animals none of us use anymore. You didn't leave any of the moth-eaten homemade quilts in that deserted home. You didn't leave the clock. And you didn't leave the hand with my name on it. I had hoped, hoped with all my heart you would be glancing at the clock and see my hand pointing HOME and then come home to meet me, to shout at me because I do deserve it.

You didn't, though. I told myself maybe you didn't see the clock. After all, it was dinnertime, and there must be a lot of people where you're living now, because I know you're living with other people, and Mum's so busy she won't check the clock because 'everyone' is there. And no one else will notice either, because they're in deep conversation with new friends and they don't have their minds on the son that with never be part of the family.

And then I think otherwise and tell myself maybe you took the hand off the clock, maybe Dad pulled the clock apart and threw my hand into the fire. I swept out of the house, apparated back to my flat, and prayed you were at the Burrow then, looking for me because you had seen my hand pointing home.

Because regardless of how much I hurt you, how much I hurt myself and distanced myself from you, I'm part of the family, and home for you is home for me as well.

Reagrdless of what I said to you, what I did to you, what I didn't say and do, I'm still part of the family and I can't help feeling lost because I don't belong anymore.

Well i hoped that since we're here anyway

We could end up saying

Things we've always needed to say

So we could end up stringing

Now the story's played out like this

Just like a paperback novel

Lets rewrite an ending that fits

Instead of a hollywood horror

I'm not going to come back and apologise for leaving, but I'm sorry Mum cried and Dad cried and Ginny cried and the rest of you became disappointed in me and got hurt in the process. I'm not sorry I made the mistake of believing people I work with instead of my family, but I'm sorry I turned out to be wrong. I'm not sorry I wrecked last year's Christmas because you were still thinking about me, but I'm sorry if this year you will remember me again.

Again, I'm not going to come home and beg to be forgiven. Just like last year I'm not going to answer your owls, I'm not going to accept the presents and I won't accept the words you give me when you tell me I _am_ forgiven. Because I know I'm not. I know the least I can do is say sorry, and so I will. I won't beg, won't fall to my knees and break down and cry because if you won't accept my apology there's nothing I can do. We're all stubborn. We'll never say we're wrong. If you won't forgive me once then you won't forgive me ever. I just hope you will.

Mum, Ginny, don't cry anymore, Dad, you don't have to hide when you cry. Bill, Charlie, you can hate me, and you don't have to hate yourself because it was never your fault. Fred, George, I'm relieved you two are getting along quite well. I'm pleased to know you don't hesitate to hate me because when you do it makes me cry. Ron, you believed my lies, but I hope you'll listen to the truth.

Someday, somehow

gonna make it allright but not right now

I know you're wondering when

(You're the only one who knows that)

Someday, somehow

gonna make it allright but not right now

I know you're wondering when

(You're the only one who knows that)

In this way, yes, I am saying sorry.

By the time you get this, don't send Pig to me with a reply. He won't find me in my office or in my flat. He won't find me on my way because I'm right where I belong.

By the time you have read this there will be a knock on the door, and there will be tears and shouting and a lot of screaming. I just hope there will be no anger anymore. I just hope we can be a family again and we'll look at the clock and the hands pointed together to 'home'. I hope you'll stop crying then, and then I can stop lying too.

Merry Christmas,

Percy

How the hell did we wind up like this

Why weren't we able

To see the signs that we missed

And try to turn the tables

Now the story's played out like this

Just like a paperback novel

Lets rewrite an ending that fits

Instead of a hollywood horror

A soft rapping noise brought the family to their senses. A great heave of relief washed over the room. For some reason the fire in the grate seemed merrier, the cheap lights on the crooked Christmas tree brighter, and the colors in the room loud and painfully lush. The three people on the rickety couch and the other five gathered around it looked over the letter in the hands of the elder woman. Her hand trembled, dropped the parchment and went to her mouth. She sobbed into her husband's shoulder as the younger woman beside her stared at the parchment.


End file.
